


Short-Sighted

by ImperfectAlias



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ignis is frustrated, Platonic Relationships, Prompto is trying his best, and Gladio and Noctis are making this train ride uncomfortably tense, post chapter 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperfectAlias/pseuds/ImperfectAlias
Summary: Were it not for Prompto, Ignis is rather sure he would have lost his mind at this point… but if the blond did not cease in his jittery behavior, that is likely to change.Noctis has always had a hard time looking past his own nose, Gladio seems to look only past his nose, and Prompto, thankfully, wears corrective lenses… even if he is too worried about upsetting anyone with what he can see.If Ignis is to be honest: He has had it to about here with all that he can see within the group, and he is supposed to be the blind one.On the train ride to Cartanica, Ignis reflects on his frustrations with the shortsightedness of the rest of the group.





	Short-Sighted

Were it not for Prompto, Ignis is rather sure he would have lost his mind at this point… but if the blond did not _cease_ in his jittery behavior, that is likely to change.

The fidgety young man has been trying his best to keep the others from brutally murdering one another - usually in the form of trying to make distractions, such as explaining the passing scenery outside of the train window to Ignis or babbling on quietly about other, miscellaneous topics that came to the forefront of his mind. The attempts are, more often than not, being met with noncommittal grunts or one word answers from Noctis and Gladio, with Ignis attempting to keep a conversation running - though he soon found himself begrudgingly admitting, at least to himself, that he has a poor ability for words that only serve to fill space and nothing more.

All that education and Ignis cannot manage to keep even a _conversation_ going past four or five sentences in the group-imposed blanket of animosity.

Ignis can only describe the tension hanging over the group as _suffocating_.

If babbling whatever comes to mind makes Prompto feel better, then who is Ignis to stop him?

Ignis has long since resigned himself to counting the various sounds on the train - reaching somewhere in the hundreds as he counted the number of times Prompto’s boot tapped the underside of the seat, beside him. He supposes this is a laughable attempt at practising to orientate himself with just sound - but all Ignis seems to be practising is the fastest way to make a sharp pain pass behind his eyelids and into his left temple. There are so many sounds to keep track of and not one of them is as comforting as they should be.

It has been weeks since Altissia; slow, agonizing, weeks - but weeks nonetheless.

Noctis had recovered, physically at least, from fighting with the Leviathan, but he closes in on himself almost immediately afterward. He only gives brash, irritated replies or quiet, deflated ones. Ignis found himself wondering, back in the now flooded city, if this would slowly descend into Noctis reverting back to his persona from his high school years - depressed and negligent and having a difficult time looking past his problems.

From what Gladio had remarked, none too discreetly, the prince had yet to wear the ring Lady Lunafreya had… delivered to him. Noctis seeming to have taken to just carrying the heirloom around in his palm - though Ignis did not miss the hitched breaths that left the prince every now and then, faint and likely without a visual cue.

The past few weeks had been hard, and even Ignis finds it difficult to find words of comfort for the grieving royal. At the very least, Prompto is trying his damndest - and the advisor can appreciate that - more so than he can appreciate the prince’s shield trying to egg on said prince into some kind of fight, verbal or otherwise.

    Gladio, from his place behind Ignis, shifts every few minutes - as if he is some kind of coiled spring waiting for an excuse to hurl itself against whatever kept it so tightly wound. Ignis catches the sound of his leather jacket sliding against the back of his seat, and the sound of a page in a book being turned just a touch too roughly. Gladio’s irritation is nearly tangible and Ignis knows it is only a matter of time before the shield cracks under the anger that only follows a sense of duty.

The frustration, Ignis can understand. The bespectacled advisor merely has more practice in keeping his own qualms, with situations such as this, in check. It is a tedious balancing act of self control that comes with serving royalty.

Noctis stays stock still in his seat, or at least Ignis has yet to hear His Highness move since the group had boarded the train several hours ago. The advisor finds it painfully easy to envision the young royal staring aimlessly out the window… or perhaps down at the ring - maybe both - all with that half-slouch Noctis tends to wear when he was disappointed… only now his shoulders are to likely be weighed down by the massive burden of grief brought by another dead loved one.

Ignis shifts in his seat and can practically feel Prompto glance towards him. It seems to be time for a voiceless reprieve as he feels Prompto reach over him to flick on their small travel radio, some song the bespectacled man has heard dozens of times in the Regalia buzzing into life, quiet as a murmur.

Ignis almost finds it too loud for his own good.

He merely makes do with holding back an exaggerated exhale, hands folded around the handle of his walking cane, as Prompto tries to hum in the thick atmosphere. Even his humming seems to crack under the sheer weight of it all - but Prompto continues to hum regardless.

Even a headache was better than _this,_ and Ignis begins counting again; this time counting the sound of Prompto’s heel bouncing to the beat.

This standoff between Gladio and Noctis is driving Ignis quite nearly up a wall. Threats left unspoken are slowly working up the advisor’s list of grievances faster than he would like to admit to. It really is only a matter of time before the pair inevitably lunge for one another with intent to harm. Ignis can practically feel the volatility coming off of the two of them in waves - followed only by the jittery anxiety on his left from Prompto.

It all leaves Ignis with no small amount of bitter tasting exasperation on his tongue and a dwindling patience.

He just barely catches himself mid-sigh before he merely moves to adjust his gloves instead, letting the cane rest against his thigh like an iron bar as he pulls his hands away from it. For just a moment, he lets himself indulge in his frustrations with his companions - preferring it over the frustrations at his... current state of being. Anything was better than that.

Noctis, though no one can blame him entirely at present, has always had a hard time looking past his own nose. It had been a source of exasperation for the advisor when the prince had been a teenager; likely being why Ignis had become so disciplined when it came to holding his tongue at such a young age - how to keep those young-adult impulses in check. The prince gets so caught up in his own world that little else seems to come into his line of thought - little else seeming to matter more than the things rolling around in that head of his - and then, when something foreign does enter his line of vision, it is usually met with misdirected rage in the form of a volatile temper and poorly chosen words.

Gladio is no better - and in some cases, even worse. The shield seems to look only _past_ his nose, looking only to the future, and never once looking back at himself. A coil of aggression and devotion to his job as a shield… he was a walking timebomb that Ignis did not have the patience, or skill, to disarm effectively.The man refuses to look at his own feelings - often lashing out and channelling anything he did not allow himself to say into hours of extra training - and makes the conscious effort to try and beat down the grief that the entire retinue was wallowing in.

The shield refuses to wallow and instead seems to have taken on the job of forcing them forward, one sharp word at a time - but in his haste to see Noctis become the king he knows the young man can - _will_ become… he is to be blind to the present prince - blind to the damage he causes by expecting everyone else to be able to shoulder the recent emotional burdens with nothing more than a frown and hatred for the enemy. Though he handles this in a way that works effectively for himself and speaks out of a reasonable logic, harsh as it may be - he refuses to spare a glance at the problem struggling for breath beneath the surface of the issue.

He refuses to acknowledge that there are some things that cause pain that he cannot brutally force into submission - and he takes it as well as he takes any form of possible failure in his duty to protect the king.

Ignis can understand that - more so than he can care to admit.

The frustration that comes with being loyal to His Highness and being unable to do anything for him is _insufferable_.

If Ignis had not been so particular about his presentation, he might have let a rueful expression take his features. To think he let himself be brought down to such a level that even considered putting his own dissatisfaction of the situation - of his travelling companions - his friends over that of His Highness...

When had he become such a _disappointment_?

A hand moving gently over his own caused Ignis to tilt his head towards the left, snapped effectively from his thoughts. “Prompto?” Ignis replies, a frown pulling his lips downward. He should not have allowed himself to get so distracted.

The shuffle of clothes and the movement of the seats cushioning moves as the blond boy likely begins to fidget all the more. “I’m gonna go grab something to drink - the guys, uh - they didn’t want anything - but I can grab you a coffee or something - I mean if you want - or I can take you over to the dining car?” Prompto babbles, and Ignis can feel the blond's leg bouncing with his nerves.

Ignis takes pity on the boy that is trying his hardest to not offend him and with only minimal success. “A coffee will do, thank you, Prompto,” he says, making sure to force a smile to his usually stern expression. He can practically feel nerves loosen their hold on Prompto as the young man lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh of relief. “I’m fine sitting here.”

“Alright - okay - cool,” comes the reply from Prompto, and Ignis can feel the seat move again with what he can only assume is an enthusiastic nod from the other. He hears Prompto get to his feet. “I’ll be right back then - cream and sugar, right?”

“Yes, thank you.” And it is as Prompto leaves that Ignis decides that the sharpshooter tries too hard.

If Noctis cannot see _past_ his nose and Gladio refuses to look anywhere _but_ past his own nose - then Prompto, thankfully, wears corrective lenses… even if he is too worried about upsetting anyone with what he _can_ see. The sharpshooter is inexperienced and anxious and Ignis is sure he is not the only person that worries for him. The young man works hard, as if every move he makes is a determining factor on if he will be thrown to the wind or not - something that the advisor has yet to completely wrap his head around. He is the close friend of His Highness via his own actions and very little fiddling from outside powers - and something about it brings Ignis comfort as much as it brings exasperation. Why can he not find praise in something as simple as being surrounded by friends? Is it a fear of judgment?

If anything, Ignis finds himself mostly aggravated by how Prompto has named himself his honorary caretaker. It comes from a place of caring, the advisor knows this - oh, _does he know_ \- but going from one extremity to the other… it is enough to make his blood boil beneath his skin.

Ignis begins fiddling with his gloves again and he finally lets out that deep sigh he was holding in earlier.

To his credit - the advisor _does_ appreciate the concern the sharpshooter is showing for his wellbeing - as well as the wellbeing of the silently quarreling duo. It is leagues above the lack of concern Gladio and Noctis are showing.

Prompto is someone who tries to bring the group back from the dark with a light that is all his own; that much was painfully obvious from the moment he started to force his laughs.

As much as the blond seems to fold in on himself in his doubts, he reaches out just as much - if not more so. He smiles and fidgets and chimes in with witty commentary - it is as if he is a walking contradiction; as if he is equally terrified of pushing too hard for the sake of the group as he is pushing too little. Perhaps the blond is also performing some kind of balancing act of his own - but balancing what, Ignis does not yet know.

Leaning his head back against his seat, Ignis closes his eye and takes a measured breath.

If the advisor is to be honest: He has had it to about _here_ with all that he _can_ see within the group - the thought almost makes him grin - and _he_ is supposed to be the blind one… but even then, as frustrating as the situation may be - everyone has his own reasons.

For all of his gruff attitude and volatility as of late - Gladio cares more than he will ever let on, even if he has a difficult time showing it. He holds the policy of _tough love_ close to his heart - and, for all his harsh words, he is just as worried as anyone else about the prince. He wants Noctis to see to the future because that is all any of them have left - he wants His Highness to stop drowning in the past and walk tall. Gladio is devoted and loyal and rough around the edges - but even in a state such as this, the advisor can honestly say he trusts the shield with His Highness’ life.

Though Ignis can also honestly say that he sincerely wishes, as true as all of that may be, that Gladio would learn to communicate better. For all of the years Ignis has known him, he has noticed a trend that is Gladio shutting down any possibility of weakness in himself - being unable, or unwilling, to admit to suffocating himself on his pride. Ignis hopes there will be a time when Gladio will allow himself to fully grieve for his dead father and Insomnia - and not see it as a weakness.

But then again, maybe Ignis is a hypocrite. He too has folded his grief into a small envelope at the back of his mind - never to be touched again… or at the very least, not until all of this is over.

His feelings on his own situation are to take a backseat to the situation at hand.

Even if Noctis is stubborn and self-centered at times, he genuinely cares for the people around him. It is that determination to do the right thing that led, and continues to lead, Ignis to believe that the young man will one day make a fine king… and even though Ignis finds himself wishing Noctis would just _look around_ himself, he also understands that the prince also needs _time_. Time to grieve. Time to find his own answers. Time to fall into the shoes that His Majesty has left abruptly at his feet, in the shape of a ring from his departed fiance and friend.

Noctis will be king when he is ready and no sooner. He will have all the time in the world to _see_ , then.

And while the advisor must swallow the current frustration of being surrounded by a group of varying degrees of short-sighted, exasperating individuals… they are trying their best.

And for now?

That is enough for Ignis

**Author's Note:**

> Because there aren't enough frustrated Iggy fics on the internet.


End file.
